


Nothing Will Harm You Here

by WritingIsReality



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Magic, Magic Revealed, Merlin's Magic Revealed, Romance, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 23:10:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9791300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingIsReality/pseuds/WritingIsReality
Summary: Merlin saves Arthur's life using magic. Morbidly ill, and suffering delusions of grandeur, he is convinced that Arthur will see him executed. He expects to be sentenced to death, not nursed to health and protected by the King of Camelot. Confessions and revelations ensue.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'd really just like to say thank you to everyone who has commented and given me kudos so far. I'm overwhelmed by the response that this fic has garnered, I wasn't expecting it at all. Thank you internet friends for your kindness <3

When he wakes up, it’s to the slow, crackling burn of a fire in its hearth and the weight of too many furs covering his person. His senses tell him that the room is warm, scorching to the point of being uncomfortable; but he doesn’t feel it. His teeth chatter even as sweat makes a lazy trail from his brow down his face. He squeezes his eyes shut. He wants, more than anything, to go back to sleep; but he also knows that something terrible has happened. He can’t remember the details, his brain is fogged with the snow his body seems to believe he is covered in.

What he does know, is that he has revealed himself. He used his magic in front of Arthur, saving Arthur, and for that he is going to pay with his life.

Though his body protests, he opens his eyes with determination and attempts to rise from the bed he’s found himself in. He doesn’t know where he is, but he knows that he needs to flee. He has to –

“Don’t even think about it.”

Merlin recoils with fear even though he knows the voice. Everyone is a danger to him now.

It’s irrational, his body literally cannot do what he needs it to, but he tries to rise again with the sole intent to flee and make his escape; only Arthur is standing in front of him before he even has the opportunity to blink. Merlin swallows thickly, nervously, and eyes Arthur wearily. With eyes heavy with sickness, Merlin’s gaze flickers about the room, searching for an escape route and only finding one – the doorway directly behind Arthur. It’s in this moment that Merlin realises he’s in Arthur’s chambers in Camelot, in his bed…

Merlin’s eyes flit to Arthur’s again and he shrinks back into the pillows supporting him. He thinks he sees a flash of hurt cross Arthur’s features, but he’s delirious with fever and can’t be sure. He isn’t given time to dwell on it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Arthur asks painfully, his tone so calm and beseeching that Merlin queries the extent of his delirium.

He feels trapped, backed into a corner that he knows he cannot escape. He looks up at Arthur, with watery eyes, and croaks, “how could I?”

The King stares at him incredulously and he lowers his eyes again. He doesn’t expect it when Arthur sits on the bed beside to him, and he certainly doesn’t expect what Arthur says next.

“The sorcerer I sought to heal my father, it was you, wasn’t it?”

Merlin’s eyes flash back up to meet Arthur’s in pure, blinding panic. “Arthur, please,” he answers quickly. “I was only trying to help, you have to know that –‘’

“I know”

“ – it was Morgana, she –‘’

“ _Merlin_ ,” Arthur intones, “I know.”

“Y-you know?”

“Yes, I know.”

“H-how?”

“Because, I know you. I know your heart, and there is not a speck of malintent that resides within it.”

Merlin blinks in confusion and Arthur knows that he has overwhelmed him. His eyes are fighting to stay open, and his already pallid skin has grown paler. The shakes wracking his weary body have become more severe, now that the bed furs have slipped down and are no longer covering him fully. This conversation, as short as it was, has exhausted him.

Arthur reaches an arm out and gently pushes Merlin’s chest until he is lying back down onto the bed. He chooses to ignore it when his manservant flinches in fright, though the anguish that coils in his stomach as a result of the reaction isn’t so easily disregarded. The young man eyes him wearily, ardently fighting a losing battle against consciousness.

Arthur rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Go to sleep, Merlin. Nothing will harm you here.”

His eyes close against his will and he is lost to a fever-dream in a matter of seconds.

Arthur says he’s safe, but Merlin knows better. He’s in Camelot, and magic is against the law. He so desperately wishes for Arthur’s words to be true, but he knows better. A sorcerer in Camelot is a dead man walking.

He doesn’t sleep because he’s told to. He sleeps because he has to. He has to gather his strength. He has to flee.

 

*#*#*#*

 

The next time he wakes up, he is alone. He’s disorientated and unaware of the time and the day, though he knows the place. It’s confusing but it’s also of no consequence.  If he wants to stay alive, then he has to leave Camelot, no matter what is waiting for him outside.

His teeth still chatter and his body still shakes. He’s trembling from head to toe and he nauseates himself simply by climbing out of the bed. He’s leaning heavily on the back of a chair and flushes when he realises that he’s as naked as the day he was born. Panting from the exertion, and trying very hard not to think of the implications of that revelation, Merlin reaches over blindly and grabs at the clothes hanging over the chair nearest to him. It’s only when he’s drowning in the donned fabric that he realises they belong to Arthur.

Merlin pays it no heed. He’ll be gone soon, and it won’t matter either way.

He stumbles to the door on unsteady legs and pulls it open with all his might, a flock of black spots fly across his vision, and he grows concerned that he might pass out. Merlin hurries down the empty, stone clad corridor, clinging to the walls and trying his utmost best to stay upright. His previously laboured breathing is now strained, and he can barely see. Sweat pours from his body and pools on his clothes. Merlin knows he’s burning with fever, but he’s just so cold. _So cold._

He hears someone shout his name from the end of the corridor behind him and he startles, peering over his shoulder to find Arthur marching towards him, his face near to bursting with rage.

“What are you doing?” Arthur demands, yanking Merlin by the front of his shirt and brings their faces dangerously close together.

Merlin’s eyes widen in desperation, and the words leave his mouth without a moment’s consideration. “I don’t want to die!” Though he’s gravely ill and delirious beyond contention, Merlin still finds himself embarrassed by the break in his voice and the moisture collecting in the corners of his eyes.

It’s once Merlin utters the words that Arthur finally understands. Under his father’s rule, even a minor affiliation with sorcery was enough to condemn a man to death. He feels both sadness and guilt at the realisation that Merlin has lived his entire life in Camelot in fear. But there is also anger. There is definitely anger. Arthur feels it, harsh and palpable and unrelenting; a rage boiling and frothing in his bones at the notion that Merlin thinks so little of him, thinks Arthur to be so much like his father, so ruthless and disillusioned, that he’s _afraid of him._

“Please, Arthur,” Merlin begs, oblivious to Arthur’s epiphany and snapping him out of his reverie. “Please let me go.” Arthur’s eyes flash in warning and Merlin becomes desperate. “At least let me go and give me a chance! Please, I won’t return again.” Arthur grips the shirt tighter and yanks him forward, dragging him down the corridor and bearing the brunt of Merlin’s weight without even faltering once. 

“You’ll never see me again! No one has to know!” Merlin cries, one last ditch attempt in utter desperation. Arthur whirls around so fast that Merlin stumbles back, his sick-addled body sluggish and delayed.

“Shut up, Merlin!” Arthur yells. His voice echoes down the corridor and Merlin shrinks back. Arthur looks stricken, distraught at what he’s seeing, at what he’s hearing. He doesn’t know if he’s going to continue to yell, but it’s in this very moment that Merlin appears to stop breathing. His flushed skin turns ashen, and Arthur’s anger gives way to fear. He holds Merlin tighter and yanks him, rougher than is strictly necessary, back down the corridor; back to his chambers where he knows Gaius is waiting.

“My Lord,” Gaius says in way of greeting, having no further opportunity to speak as a barely conscious Merlin is thrown into his arms, and a very angry King spits words venomously into his face.

“Tend to him!” Arthur yells, turning on his heel and storming back out from whence he came. He turns at the threshold and decides to yell one last thing before he disappears from view. “And lock the door when you’re done!” The mirth in his voice broaches no argument.

Gaius looks down at Merlin in exasperation and immediately becomes concerned. Though barely lucid, the warlock is looking at him desperately with unshed tears threatening to spill down his face.

“Gaius,” he begs. “You have to help me.”

The old man sighs heavily and steers Merlin back towards the bed. “Sit down, Merlin.”

“No!” Merlin fights back. “Arthur knows! He knows that I –‘’

“Merlin, I am aware.”

The young man’s eyes widen in horror at the revelation. “No. No, no, no, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Gaius! They’ll  have your head too!”

“For heaven’s sake, Merlin, what are you jabbering on about? If you would just sit down and calm yourself –‘’

“Gaius!” Merlin yells, grabbing the older by his shoulders and shaking him frantically. “Don’t you see! We have to leave!”

“Merlin,” says Gaius calmly, “you are morbidly ill, perilously so. I still don’t know what it is I’m treating and –‘’

“You won’t have anything to treat if we’re both executed!”

“Merlin,” Gaius groans tiredly, rubbing his weary eyes with his free hand. “You are endangering yourself. The situation is dire, and you –‘’

“WE HAVE TO LEAVE!”

“What the bloody hell is going on in here!” Arthur hollers, storming into the room with nothing short of thunder in his eyes.

“Sire, Merlin is not himself –‘’ Gaius starts, but his words are cut short as Merlin raises his hand towards Arthur and his eyes flare gold.

 _“Et non veni huc!”_ He yells, but Gaius knocks him to the ground before the spell can take effect, wrestling with Merlin and forcing a herbal sedative into his mouth before he even thinks to fight back.

“Did he –‘’ Arthur’s voice breaks the silence. “Did he just try to kill me?”

“No, Sire,” Gaius answers easily. “It was naught but a common shielding spell. Now please, help me lift him to the bed.”

Wordlessly, Arthur does as he is bid. He then turns around and walks to look out the window, affording Merlin his privacy whilst Gaius removes his clothing and settles him amongst the furs once again. For a few blessed minutes, there’s nothing but the sound of the fire crackling in the hearth and the wind sliding against the windows, causing them to rattle.

“Gaius,” a weak, cracked voice whispers. Arthur immediately turns his head at the sound of Merlin’s voice.

“Yes, Merlin?” The old man answers kindly, somewhat incredulous that his patient is managing to stave off the effects of the sedative that was forced on him earlier.

“Where’s Arthur?” Merlin whispers hurriedly. “Is he alright?”

“He’s fine, Merlin” Gaius answers, smiling as Merlin melts in relief into the pillows that are supporting him.

“You saved his life, you know.”

“With magic,” Merlin exhales, the sedative pulling his eyelids down without remorse. “And for that, I will pay for his life with my own.”

Gaius doesn’t dare look at Arthur after Merlin’s proclamation. He doesn’t have to. Quietly, ever so slightly, he hears Arthur stride across his chambers, followed by swish of the chamber door before it closes behind him with a soft click.

 

*#*#*#

 

This is what Gaius knows.

He knows that Arthur and his Knights, Merlin included, rode off to a nearby homestead after reports surfaced of an ice witch, wreaking havoc from one village to the next, freezing both the crops and the farmers and condemning the villagers to starvation.

He knows that this witch was recruited by Morgana, and that her purpose had been purely to lure Arthur from Camelot and kill him at the earliest opportunity.

He knows that when Arthur and his Knights arrived at the homestead, all hell broke loose. The Knights of Camelot were all incapacitated within a matter of minutes, and that Arthur, weak from battle, lay on the ground before her, unable to prevent the onslaught of her final blow.

He knows this because it is what Arthur told him.

He also knows that Merlin, for reasons Arthur appears unable to fathom, jumped directly in front of him as the witch unleashed her magic, and he unleashed magic of his own. The witch had been vanquished, such was Merlin’s power, but it had not been without sacrifice. Merlin had been hit in the melee, and he had been dying.

He doesn’t know exactly what happened after that. But he knows that Arthur rode for Camelot immediately, commanding his Knights to ensure the safety of the villagers whilst he strapped Merlin to his horse and to his front, before racing off into the dead of night.

He knows that Merlin stopped breathing; more than once, in fact, and that it caused Arthur to endure a panic that his privilege had not yet allowed for him to experience.

He knows that Arthur got Merlin back to Camelot in the nick of time, and that Merlin’s revelation of magic was inconsequential to Arthur given that Merlin’s life was now at risk.

He knows that Arthur is distraught; unable to eat and sleep and _rule_ whilst Merlin slumbers in the dangerous limbo between life and death.

Gaius isn’t vain enough to brand himself as an ‘all-knowing’ man, but he sees both Merlin and Arthur more clearly than either of them sees themselves.

Arthur is distraught, and Gaius likes to think that he knows why.

 

*#*#*#

 

_“Why’s his skin that colour?”_

_“He’s still hypothermic, Sire.”_

_“Has eaten or drunk anything?”_

_“No, Sire, he’s dehydrated and  –‘’_

_“He’s thin enough already!”_

_“I know, Sire.”_

_“Why hasn’t he woken up yet?”_

_“He’s gravely ill, Sire.”_

_“Is he going to die?”_

_“I don’t know, Sire.”_

_“He’s shaking again.”_

_“He’s cold, Sire.”_

_“How the bloody hell is he cold? We’ve turned this room into a furnace!”_

_“Can’t you put his clothes back on? Stop the shaking?”_

_“I’m afraid that would be counter-productive, Sire. Bare skin against the furs is the best method of sustaining body heat. It’s second only to…”_

_“Second only, to what?”_

_“Direct contact with another’s bare skin, Sire.”_

_“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”_

_“I did not think it of import. I wished to prevent anyone’s discomfort.”_

_“It’s of import if it’ll save his life!”_

_“Well, I can’t be sure that alone would –‘’_

_“That’ll be all, Gaius. It’s late and you too, need your rest._

_“I do not wish for Merlin to be alone, lest something happen.”_

_“He won’t be alone. I’ll be watching over him. Just I have been since this all began.”_

_“As you wish, Sire.”_

*#*#*#*#*#

 

The final time he wakes up, it is to a throat that is painfully parched and a stomach that begs for sustenance. The fire is still crackling in its hearth, and though he’s not as cold as he was previously, he accepts the fact that he will probably need the fire to burn for quite a while longer. His skin is sticky with sweat; the furs and bedding below and around him are drenched in it. He’s happy that his fever has broken, that he is finally back to both consciousness and lucidity; but he’s also revolted with the state that he’s in.

He’s tired, still so, _so_ tired. He has half a mind to let himself fall back asleep; but he’s disconcerted by the intermittent tickle of air against his neck, which he very quickly realises matches the breathing of a person behind him.

Instantly, Merlin freezes; panic escalating tenfold as he recognises that the person isn’t just lying behind him, but holding him as well. It’s also in this moment that Merlin realises that he doesn’t have any clothes on. Coincidently, this is when the person behind him begins to rouse from their own slumber as well. Merlin’s breath hitches in his chest, and he knows, for certain, that the person behind him has felt it.

“Merlin?” Whispers a voice, hesitantly, daring to hope and clearly afraid of doing so.

The sick man in question turns over quickly and immediately regrets the action. Merlin has to squeeze his eyes shut in an attempt to stave off the onslaught of dizziness and nausea. Once he manages to regain himself, Merlin opens his eyes and his face reddens. He doesn’t have time to fully appraise the awkwardness of the situation and his nakedness, however, because Arthur bombards him with questions, not waiting to hear their answers until he reaches his last one.

“What do you remember?”

“I –‘’ Merlin starts, but then quickly looks down, needing a moment to think his answer through. “Most of it,” he admits, finally. “I remember most of it.”

He looks at Arthur with fearful eyes and the King knows that he still believes himself to be in danger of execution.

“Merlin –‘’ Arthur begins, but the warlock has already averted his eyes and is biting his lip in anxiety – a motion which Arthur finds to be most distracting.

Arthur sighs, leaning forward to whisper in Merlin’s ear, satisfied when he shivers in response. “Don’t you know that I’d only ever do what it took to protect you?” Merlin exhales heavily, emotively. “Have I ever given you any reason to doubt that?” The shake of Merlin’s head is minute, but it’s a shake nonetheless. Merlin says nothing else otherwise, and the silence stretches on.

“ _Merlin_ …” Arthur coaxes, satisfied when he sees Merlin smile slightly in response. _It’s time,_ Arthur decides, _to be daring._ He leans into Merlin, closer than is strictly necessary, and whispers. “Show me.”

For a short while, he doesn’t think Merlin is going to do anything other than breathe heavily in apprehension. But then, ever so slowly, he raises his arm. He utters an incantation, so smooth and soothing that Arthur’s eyes flutter, almost causing him to miss the sight of Merlin’s own eyes as they flash gold.

_“Carmina Ignis Mihi.”_

A small wisp of flame licks away from the conglomeration firing in the hearth. With nothing but the subtle ebb and flow of his fingers, Merlin manipulates the flame until it takes on the form of a Knight astride his steed, lance in hand, ready to joust. The Knight moves closer, his horse trotting forward and then in a circle.

Merlin has no idea how serene he looks. How content and happy and _healthy_ he looks, embracing his true, full self, without fear of repercussion. Arthur’s not entirely sure when he stops watching the Knight and starts watching Merlin instead. The sight brings him such peace that his next move is logical, if not already fated.

Merlin turns his head to appraise Arthur shyly, insecure with his show of magic and how it is being received by his King. The flaming Knight crackles and disappears as he does so because, suddenly, Arthur’s lips are on his own.

Shocked at the action, Merlin is both still and silent under the weight of Arthur’s lips. This certainly isn’t what he had been expecting. No, he had thought that Arthur was going to behead him, not kiss him.

Though most people don’t believe him to be so, Merlin can be rather manipulative if what he seeks is within his reach. He decides to kiss Arthur back; if the King recoils, well, one could hardly hold Merlin accountable for his actions whilst he was delirious with illness, _could they?_

Slowly, Merlin returns the kiss, feeling Arthur smile in relief against him as he does so. Clearly, he wasn’t the only one worried about his actions and how they would be received.

The seams of their lips part and both men attempt to stifle their groans. Merlin, emboldened by the action, brings his hand up to cradle Arthur’s face, forcing them closer together and providing better access. Arthur is only too happy to follow. The shift in their position means that Arthur is now looming over him, covering Merlin’s body with his own – something the warlock very much appreciates despite his self-consciousness. One of Arthur’s hands comes to rest on his hip-bone and Merlin tenses slightly, nervous about his skinny disposition as compared to that of the solid build of Arthur. But the King takes it all in his stride, squeezing the area as an assurance and moving his lips from Merlin’s mouth to just below his chin, kissing the pale skin there and revelling its scent.

“Arthur –‘’ Merlin starts, biting his bottom lip harshly as Arthur pointedly ignores him and continues his ministrations. “Arthur, s-stop.” The King immediately does, looking at Merlin with concern and guilt, confusion at Merlin’s sudden reluctance painfully evident.

“I’m sweaty,” Merlin says, in way of answer. Arthur smiles. “No seriously. I’m sweaty and disgusting and –‘’

“Delicious,” Arthur whispers, reverently. Merlin chokes on his own breath as Arthur bows his head and licks the area he had previously been ravishing, ensuring that he leaves a mark behind. _Possessive prat._ Merlin thinks.

Eventually, Arthur sighs, and looks up at Merlin with regret on his face. “I can’t do this,” he says. Merlin’s heart plummets in his chest, only to be rescued at the last moment by Arthur’s explanation. “You’re sick.”

“Stellar observation, _my liege_.”

Arthur smacks him over the head playfully. “I _mean,_ you’re sick and still need to recover. I can’t do this now. It feels like I’m taking advantage.”

Merlin snorts a laugh. “As your manservant, don’t you always take advantage of me?” The warlock smirks, but his eyes soften as he gazes at Arthur endearingly, honoured that his King should care for him so much.

Arthur sighs theatrically. “I think I’m going to have to punish you for your insubordination, Merlin.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure. But before you do that, can I please eat something and put on some clothes?”

“Merlin,” Arthur groans, “do you even realise how suggestive you are without even trying?”

“What?” Merlin’s eyes widen in horror as the innuendo of what he said dawns upon him. “N-no. No. I- I didn’t mean –‘’ He stops struggling with his words when Arthur begins to laugh at him. Merlin looks at him suspiciously. “You’re having me on, aren’t you?”

“You don’t exactly make it difficult, Merlin.”

“Clot-pole,” Merlin mutters under his breath, giving a sharp gasp as Arthur flicks him over the head again. “Ow!” Merlin glares at him. “Do you treat all your incapacitated subjects like this?”

“Only the ones that irritate me,” Arthur replies, but there’s no mirth in his tone.

“Oh, well yes, in that case –‘’

His well rehearsed, and completely insincere tirade, is cut short when Arthur again, catches his mouth in a searing kiss. Arthur pulls back after a short while with a heavy sigh. He can feel in the dryness of his lips how dehydrated Merlin is, and he can only imagine how hungry. He’s displeased at his forced retreat, but he has absolutely no other choice when it comes to Merlin and his well-being. That didn’t mean that he had to totally break his character, however.

“This isn’t over,” Arthur says with a smirk, making the promise sound like a threat in the most delectable way

Merlin smiles softly. “I certainly hope not.”

The pair takes a moment to experience the simple joy of basking in one another’s presence; the fact that they are both alive and well and, finally, acting on feelings that have been long repressed, but even longer felt.

Finally, and with some resistance, Merlin begins to move. “I need to get some water,” he says.

“I’ll get it,” Arthur replies quickly, jumping off the bed and moving to the table where a bowl and pitcher rest, reaching for a goblet to fill so that Merlin can drink to his heart’s content.

Of all the absurd things that Merlin had been experiencing since his wakening, he decided that this, Arthur serving _him,_ was undoubtedly the most absurd of them all.

He doesn’t hesitant in voicing this observation to Arthur; suddenly thankful for his quick reflexes as Arthur throws an empty goblet towards his head in jest.

“Idiot,” Arthur murmurs.

Merlin smiles into his pillow. _Prat,_ he thinks, but he chooses, wisely, not to voice this final thought out loud.


End file.
